


dont blame it on the kids

by Spannah339



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dadza, Gen, HI I HATE THE TAGS FOR THIS FANDOM OH MY GOSH WHY THE REAL NAMES, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, WHY DO WE NOT HAVE A FANDOM TAG YET, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), adding more tags for the surprise second chapter, and also to make this seen because WE DONT AHVE A FANDOM TAG YET, clingy duo, except not actually tubbo just thinks so, hey ao3 can we please remove tubbo's real name in tags it isn't NEEDED THANK YOU, i had to manually type that out??/, is there not a tommy&tubbo tag??, okay i give up, tommy and ranboo are hardly in it im just tagging for clout, tommy is in it more now, what, what is with these TAGS man??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spannah339/pseuds/Spannah339
Summary: “Good morning, Mr. President,” he said stiffly, hostility clear in his voice. Tubbo, standing on the other side of the door with a pleasant smile, faltered only a moment at the greeting.“Hey, Phil,” he said. “Can I come in?” There was an edge to his words, as though he were being almost too nice.__Aka Dadza and Tubbo bonding, based roughly off the stream for the 22/12 (or 23rd if you're like me and in the future) when Tubbo visited Phil in house arrest.Chapter one: cause we all have wings but some of us don't know whyChapter two: it's alright, it's okay, you're not a monster, just a human.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Tubbo & Philza Minecraft
Comments: 30
Kudos: 240





	1. cause we all have wings but some of us don't know why

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just say ao3 is NOT smp friendly and I thought FINDING fics was bad enough how many are being missed because we don't have a fandom tag??? honestly. _also like why do we need REAL NAMES??? PLEASE AO3 IM BEGGING YOU ON BENDED KNEE <\i> _
> 
> _Anyway. This wasn't exactly what I expected it to be but I'm happy with it! Enjoy!_

There was a ringing from above and Phil let out a long sigh, glancing up from where he was carving out his basement. For a moment he considered just letting it ring, but there wasn’t anywhere else he  _ could _ be while under house arrest, and he didn’t really want his door to be broken down. He’d only just fixed the windows. 

With some reluctance, he made his way out of the basement, shaking water from his hair and wings as he leapt free of the water elevator. A glance out the window made him let out another heavy sigh when he saw who was ringing the bell. 

He quickly grabbed the ankle monitor boots from the amour stand he had set them on, adjusting them to make sure they sat correctly and opened the door. 

“Good morning, Mr President,” he said stiffly, hostility clear in his voice. Tubbo, standing on the other side of the door with a pleasant smile, faltered only a moment at the greeting. 

“Hey, Phil,” he said. “Can I come in?” There was an edge to his words, as though he were being almost  _ too _ nice. 

But Phil couldn’t really say no, so he moved aside silently, allowing the President to step into the house. Tubbo paused a moment to take in the room, the villager in one corner, the sheep Phil was babysitting for Ghostbur in another. 

“How have you been?” Tubbo asked, and Phil knew him well enough to know that, at least, was genuine. He wasn’t in the mood to give him any ground. 

“As well as I can be,” he said, the same ice to his voice as his initial greeting. If Tubbo noticed, he didn’t react. 

The younger’s eyes landed on the armour stand, and Phil felt a moment of surprising nervousness -- he should have hidden that in a chest before opening the door. 

“How’s the ankle monitor? Not uncomfortable?” Tubbo asked, and it wasn’t hard to read the real purpose behind those words. Again, Phil wasn’t in the mood to make this easy for Tubbo. 

“It’s fine,” he said, glancing down at the offending items on his feet. 

“Can I have a look?” Tubbo asked, and Phil locked eyes with him for a moment. Finally, he decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting, and kicked the shoes off, pushing them towards Tubbo. Tubbo picked them up, silently turning them over in his hands. He handed them back, and Phil didn’t put them on. “How about I make you another pair?” Tubbo asked, and Phil narrowed his eyes. 

“These are fine, I think,” he said. Tubbo once again locked eyes with him. 

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said and moved out of the house. Phil let out a low curse, staring at the ankle monitor in his hands. He was willing to bet the new pair would have some kind of enchantment - Tubbo was a smart kid, smart enough to know Phil wasn’t wearing the ankle monitor at all times. 

Sure enough, Tubbo returned a few minutes later, a new set of shoes in one hand. Phil wasn’t at all surprised to see the faint glow of an enchantment clinging to their surface. Tubbo held them out, smiling in a way that would almost seem friendly. 

“Here you go, Phliza Minecraft,” he said. 

“ _ Here you go, Mr Minecraft! I made it for you!” Tubbo beamed, holding out a drawing he had just completed. It was a rough, childish scribble of a bee, hardly recognizable, but Phil couldn’t help but smile as he took it. _

__ _ “Thanks, mate,” he said, ruffling the boy’s head. Somehow, Tubbo’s smile grew wider and he turned to run back to where Tommy was swinging a stick around. Phil smiled fondly after him.  _

“Is this really necessary?” he asked, taking the shoes. Curse of binding, he was pretty sure. Tubbo didn’t break eye contact. 

“You tell me,” he said. 

For a moment, they locked eyes, a silent battle of wits. Eventually, Phil again decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting - they were only iron, after all, it shouldn’t take too much effort to break them. He probably had some magma in a chest, or he could ask Ghostbur to find a cactus. 

Part of him wanted to know what Tubbo would do if he refused. 

Part of him didn’t want to put the boy in that position. 

So he sighed, reaching down and slipping the shoes into place. They clung uncomfortably, a prickle of magic shooting through his feet. He rolled his ankles, winching slightly at the uncomfortable sensation. It faded almost entirely a moment later, but they still felt odd. Wrong. 

“How about I make you a helmet as well!” Tubbo said, fake cheerfulness dripping off his every word. “You have an anvil, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved past Phil to open his enderchest, pausing a moment before turning to the anvil, shooing Friend gently aside. 

Phil laid a hand on the sheep’s head, watching as Tubbo enchanted a helmet with a book. It glowed softly, the same rippling, almost beautiful effect that Phil’s shoes currently bore. 

“I’m not putting that on, Tubbo,” Phil said, trying to leave no room for argument. Tubbo narrowed his eyes, holding out the helmet. 

“I just want to make sure you’re not going to run out on us,” he said. 

“Why do you even want me here?” Phil asked. “I’m not technically a citizen of L’manburg.” 

Tubbo hesitated, as though he hadn’t fully thought that through. Then he scowled, stepping close, helmet still held out. 

“It’s better that we know where you are,” Tubbo said. As though Phil couldn’t break out in a  _ second _ if he really wanted to. 

He didn’t want to say that he was staying partly for Tubbo - for Fundy, for his family caught in the trap, feeling like they were unable to leave. Sure, he was probably going to be more help to Techno while on the inside, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the children of L’manburg completely alone. Not while there was some chance they could find a better way. 

The shoes on his feet and the helmet Tubbo was holding made him less and less confident that was even possible. 

“And the shoes will achieve that well enough,” he said, refusing to back down. Tubbo hesitated a moment longer, but Phil knew the boy had been around him long enough to know he couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. So he dropped his eyes and returned the helmet to his inventory. 

“I guess you’re right.” He shifted uncertainly and glanced back to the door with a reluctance about him, a reluctance to leave. Phil’s suspicion was confirmed when Tubbo turned back to him. “What have you been up to?” 

There was an almost pleading note to his voice, as though he were asking for a truce. As though a moment ago he hadn’t been acting like Phil’s jailer. Phil was too tired to continue the mind games. 

“I’ve been making a basement,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the ladder upstairs. Friend let out a low bleat. 

“Oh, that’s cool!” Tubbo said, and there was genuine excitement in his words. He paused a moment, and Phil could almost see an idea take light in his mind. What, exactly, the idea was he was almost afraid to find out. “Do you want to see my guardian farm? I finally got it working.” 

Phil couldn’t deny the curiosity. Tubbo had been working on the farm for a long time - far longer than he had been in L’manburg. When he had first heard of the project in an excited letter from Tubbo, he’d been very interested to see how it would turn out. 

He had almost forgotten about it in the wake of everything that had happened. Clearly, Tubbo hadn’t. 

“I can’t really go anywhere,” he said finally, gesturing to the ankle monitor. Tubbo frowned. 

“I’m the president, right? If you’re with me I’m sure it doesn’t matter.” 

The uncertainty of his statement made Phil a little uncomfortable. If even the president didn’t know the rules of L’manburg, who was really calling the shots? 

“Mmm,” he said, unconvinced. 

“Sam and I spent all day yesterday working on the redstone, and we  _ finally _ got it working!” There was a buzzing excitement about Tubbo that Phil hadn’t seen for a long time, a pride about a complete project, a childish glee at something working the way it should. 

It was that that finally made him sigh and push himself off the wall. Maybe Tubbo wasn’t all the way gone, and spending more time with him might help him to understand what had happened. When Tubbo had changed from an excitable, kind boy to a cold and cruel president. 

Phil had practically raised the boy. Where had he gone wrong? 

“Alright,” he said. “I can’t say I’m not curious to see it finally finished.” 

Besides, an extended trip with Tubbo might help him gain some intel for Techno. 

It was a beautiful day outside, the sun reflecting off the lake L'manburg rested upon. Phil paused as they exited, enjoying the rare warmth of the winter sun. It was the kind of day where he wanted to  _ fly,  _ to spread his wings and soar over the whole world, to leave everything behind. 

But he didn't.  _ Couldn't.  _

The wooden streets of the city were surprisingly empty as Phil followed Tubbo in the direction of the Nether hub. Only Ranboo was present, casting them a curious smile and wave from where he sat on the edge of one of the platforms, a notebook open on his lap. 

The silence felt uncomfortable. Phil may not have been around for long, but he could still remember seeing L'manburg full of life, people working together to revive the nation. 

He was pretty sure he knew when the silence had begun.

Maybe that was why Tubbo hadn't been around as much. Maybe that was why he had finally finished the project he'd been working on for months. He couldn't bear the silent streets of his home. 

The uncomfortable silence followed them as they moved out of L’manburg borders towards the Nether portal. Phil wasn’t in any mood to try and alleviate the tension, so it sat heavily over them. 

Tubbo kept glancing back at him, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something and then shutting it again. He was clearly uncomfortable with the silence, and Phil would be lying to say he wasn’t a little satisfied with that result. 

He’d been uncomfortable sitting in his house for the past few days. Watching them drag Techno out of retirement and try to kill him. The president could deal with a little uncomfortable silence. 

His shoulder still stung from where Tubbo had shot him. 

The heat of the Nether took a moment to get used to after the cool winter air of the Overworld. Tubbo paused a step away from the portal, pushing hair out of his eyes and glancing back as Phil stepped through. 

“It’s this way,” he said, the first words that had been spoken between them since they had left. He made his way down the steps, heading towards the tunnel that would take them to the Nether roof. 

But his gaze lingered long on two rickety, unstable cobblestone bridges stretching over the lava. Phil didn’t miss the way his face crumbled slightly at the sight of them, before he hardened his expression and turned to face the way they were going. 

Tubbo began talking as they made their way up the stairs. He wasn’t talking about anything in particular, just filling the silence with stories of his and Sam’s efforts to make the farm work. 

The rest of the trip past much the same, Tubbo filling the silence and Phil giving him an occasional grunt or acknowledgement. The wind was picking up as they exited the cave the portal opened into, the sea spread out before them. 

In barely any time, Phil could make out the glass walls of the guardian farm, and once again he couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer size of it. He’d been here not long ago, helping Tubbo light it up properly, but clearly, more work had been done since then. 

Tubbo drew the boat alongside the glass barrier, and Phil stepped onto it, spreading his wings and enjoying the wind through his damaged and clipped feathers. That was another annoyance of being stuck inside - he couldn’t really spread his wings fully. 

“So what do you think?” Tubbo asked, a hint of pleading to his voice. He needed validation, needed to hear words of affirmation from Phil. Once again, he was reminded that the president was still just a child. 

_ A child who had almost executed Techno. A child who had thrown Tommy aside. A child who had locked Phil in his own house for no reason but protecting the man he saw as a son _ . 

But the farm was impressive, Phil couldn’t deny that. He jumped to the ground, instinctively spreading his wings as he fell. The water at the bottom broke his fall and he stepped out as Tubbo landed behind him. 

“We were working on it all yesterday,” Tubbo said. “And the day before - I’ve really wanted to get it finished.” He moved forward, looking back and beckoning Phil to follow. He did, glancing up at the structure in the middle of the huge ring of glass. 

“It’s impressive,” he said finally, and Tubbo lit up, grinning. “Well done mate.” 

“You really think so?” Tubbo asked. A guardian fell to its death, and Phil couldn’t help but smile. 

“‘Course, you’ve done a good job.” 

_ “Look, look Phil!” Tubbo practically dragged him down the cave, excitement washing off him in waves.  _

_ “He’s been working on the nerd crap all week,” Tommy commented, following a few paces behind. Tubbo stuck out a tongue at him, stopping in front of the simple spider farm.  _

_ “I got it to work,” he said smugly, looking up at Phil and folding his arms.  _

_ “Well done mate,” Phil said, feeling strangely proud of the boy.  _

Tubbo seemed more like himself than he had for a long time standing here, the ocean water high above them. He moved quickly to the side of the farm, happily rambling about how he had constructed it and Phil felt some of his anger towards the boy fade, making a mental note to thank Sam for giving Tubbo a place to be himself. Once again, he was reminded that Tubbo was still young, that he had gone through so much and had the fate of an entire nation placed on his shoulders. 

It didn’t excuse what he had done. 

“...and we’ve got lots of slime chunks,” Tubbo said, gesturing to where a cobblestone marker stood across the field. As he spoke, a slime spawned into existence. “See. We’re going to make a slime farm there. Sam wants their balls.” 

“You’ve got a good set up for a lot of farms here,” Phil commented, turning as he spoke. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, and once again he felt the loss of his flight keenly. 

“That’s the plan,” Tubbo said. “We’ve also got a number of zombie villa-” 

He was cut off by the tell-tale hiss of a creeper. Phil spun, sword instantly in his hand, just in time to see the mob explode beside Tubbo. The boy had enough sense to slam on armour, his face white and panicked. 

He was thrown back a pace, landing on his back, gasping for breath. Ignoring the hole the creeper had left, Phil knelt by his side, taking in his wide eyes and shaking hands. 

“You alright, mate?” he asked as Tubbo shakily sat up. It wasn’t just his hands that were shaking, his whole body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around his legs, closing his eyes and breathing quickly. “Tubbo?” 

“Sorry,” Tubbo gasped out shakily. “Sorry - sorry, I-” 

“Just breath,” Phil said, voice steady. “You’re alright, it was just a creeper.” 

Tubbo nodded sharply but didn’t look up. He sat for a long moment, breathing deeply, his shaking slowly diminishing. Finally, he looked up, hair falling into his eyes. The scars on his face stood out painfully on his pale face. 

“I don’t like explosions,” he muttered. 

Phil couldn’t blame him. 

“Let me fix the torch grid at then we should head back,” he said. Tubbo nodded, his face tight, guarded and when Phil stood, a stack of torches in his hand, he was gripping his sword tightly. 

They were silent on the way back. Tubbo still hadn’t taken his armour off, his eyes still darting with nervousness. Once again, Phil found himself torn between anger towards the man in front of him and what he had done and anger towards what the world had done to Tubbo. 

By the time they made it back to the Overworld, Tubbo seemed back to his normal self. He led the way back to L’manburg, taking a brief detour on the way to show Phil the bee apiary he had made. Phil raised an eyebrow at that, stepping into the surprisingly warm dome. 

“It’s not the most efficient,” he said. 

“Yeah, but there’s lots of bees,” Tubbo said, holding out a hand to one of them. He grinned as it buzzed towards him, bumping into his hand a few times before turning and flying away. 

A few spare bottles of honey in their inventories, they finally returned to the wooden platforms of L’manburg city centre. Phil paused a moment to remove his armour as they arrived - he’d continue following that rule for now. 

For as long as those in power decided to keep it. The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if the once peaceful nation became a military state. 

It had been born in blood after all. 

“Uh, Phil?” Tubbo called as Phil moved up the steps towards his house. He looked back to see Tubbo standing in the market place, all his armour gone expect his helmet. Which - Phil noted - was shimmering with an enchantment. “I think I put the wrong helmet on.” 

Phil couldn't help but chuckle at that. 

“Sounds like a problem for you to deal with,” he said, no sympathy for the president. Tubbo frowned, stepping lightly up the stairs to join Phil. 

“Yeah but that means I have to be in house arrest as well,” he said. 

Phil paused. He really just wanted to return to his basement, to his project that had been interrupted for long enough. But there was a glint - a hint of desperation to Tubbo’s eyes that suggested maybe he hadn’t done this entirely on accident. 

“Does it?” he asked, his voice neutral. Unimpressed. Tubbo nodded. With a long sigh, Phil opened his door and gestured for the young president to enter. The boy ducked his head to hide a smile and shifted past Phil’s wings to move inside. 

Phil lingered a moment longer, spreading his wings as wide as he could, rolling them to catch the late afternoon sun, feeling the breeze between his feathers one last time before folding them up behind him and moving into the small building. 

Tubbo was petting Friend when Phil shut the door behind him. He looked up as Phil opened a chest, depositing his honey and a few other pieces he’d picked up on the journey. 

“What have you been working on? Can I help?” he asked. Phil glanced over at him and sighed. 

“Suppose so,” he said, digging through the chest to find a spare pickaxe. Tubbo caught it, tested its weight and nodded. Phil led the way, using his wings to guide himself down the water and to balance as he landed on the small ledge at the top of the stairs. 

The basement was already deep, but not as deep as he wanted. He had a number of plans for the space -- mostly to just keep himself busy while stuck in the confined quarters of his two-room house. 

“This is impressive,” Tubbo said, looking around as he landed on the stairs beside Phil. 

“Thanks, mate,” Phil said. “The plan is to go all the way to bedrock.” He didn’t mention anything about breaking through. That probably wasn’t best to bring up around the person who had confined him here. 

“Awesome,” Tubbo said. He kept pace with Phil as they began to move down, pickaxes in hand as they did. “Y’know, me and -” 

He stopped, cutting himself off and shutting his mouth abruptly. Phil glanced sideways at him, seeing the way he shut down, face suddenly hard (hiding intense emotion Phil barely got a glimpse of). 

Phil didn’t comment, knowing exactly what Tubbo was going to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tubbo reach to his neck as though clutching at a pendant that wasn’t there. 

Their conversation was limited and about nothing in particular while they worked. Tubbo was more subdued than before, but only slightly. It was enough that Phil could tell he was putting on a front -- he was far more cheerful than he should be. 

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Tubbo lowered his pickaxe and wiped hair out of his eyes. He looked up at Phil, who was a few blocks above him and let out a small breath, dropping his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Phil paused in his mining, looking down at where he stood. Once again, he looked very small. Very young. 

_ He tried to kill Techno. _

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt,” Tubbo continued. “I - I didn’t know what to do. I…” He looked to the side, blinking furiously and Phil mined down a block to be more level with him. “Phil, I don’t know what to do.” 

Finally, he looked up, and there were tears shimmering in his eyes. It was a plea for help, and the part of Phil that had adopted three boys who needed him finally won over the part of him that called for blood.

He sat on the edge of his ledge to be level with the boy, spreading his wings slightly and waiting. Tubbo wasn’t finished yet, and he was good at listening. 

“I - I don’t know if Techno is a threat anymore but Quackity said… And… and Dream is waiting, I  _ know _ . He’s waiting for me to mess up again and… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt but....” His shoulders were shaking and his knuckles were white around the handle of his pickaxe. “But you’re trapped, and Techno… Techno nearly died and…and...” He cut himself off with a muffled sob, the tears finally flowing and Phil reached forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

For a moment, Tubbo stiffened under the touch. Then he flung himself forward, wrapping desperate arms around Phil and Phil pulled him into an embrace, folding his wings close around both of them. 

“I miss him,” Tubbo whispered into Phil’s shirt. “I miss him so, so much. I don’t know what to do, Phil. I don’t… it’s my fault. It’s my fault he’s gone. It’s my fault he…” And he trailed off, the sobbing becoming even more intense, his shoulders shuddering. 

Phil didn’t say anything, just rubbed his back, rocking softly, humming a tuneless song. Or maybe it was a song he’d heard Wilbur sing once, a long time ago. 

He hated this. Hated that he had nightmares about Wilbur’s mad laugh, the blood that he felt still stained his hands. Hated the echo of Wilbur that had been left behind as much as he loved what was left of his son. Hated that his youngest had been exiled and alone, lied to again and again. Hated that Techno had been forced to fight once again, after trying to retire. 

Hated that he was holding the broken and sobbing form of a boy who was as much his son as Wilbur, or Tommy, or even Techno. 

Hated that he hadn’t helped them before it was too late. 

Hated that he could have. 

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo whispered again. He had calmed considerably but was still clinging to Phil as though he couldn’t let go. 

“So am I,” Phil whispered. 

He sat there for a long time, holding Tubbo close, until he realized the boy had calmed completely, his breathing even and slow, his eyes closed. 

With a small, sad smile, Phil lifted him into his arms and stood, carefully making his way out of the basement. Tubbo barely stirred, even though the water elevator, shifting closer to Phil, face screwed up tightly. 

Fundy’s bed was empty - it had been empty for a few days, and Phil didn’t want to think about how that made him feel at the moment. He gently lay Tubbo down, prying off his shoes and pulling the covers over him. 

_ Phil peered around the edge of the door, checking in on the two boys before he slept. Tommy was sprawled out across his bed, snoring lightly, one hand dangling off the edge.  _

_ Tubbo was tangled in his covers, curled into a tight ball, a slight frown covering his face.  _

_ Phil softly stepped into the rooms, untangling the blankets a little and shifting them so they would be more comfortable. He rested a hand in Tubbo’s hair, watching as he let out a small sigh and relaxed fully.  _

Tubbo shifted, muttering something, bunching the blankets tightly in one hand, face screwed into a tight frown. Phil sat beside him, one wing spread protectively over him, humming softly as he rubbed the boy’s back. 

Slowly, Tubbo relaxed, his face settling back into a soft, peaceful expression. He let out a long sigh, releasing the death grip on the cover. 

The scars on the face made him seem older when he was awake, but now they only stood out. He looked so young, so peaceful and quiet that the scars were a painful reminder of everything he had been through. 

When was the last time he'd had a proper night sleep?

Phil rested a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder for a long moment, heart aching and wishing he could fix everything. But the children of L’manburg needed to find their own way. He could guide them, show them a better way, help them to break the pattern of their predecessors.

He stood, casting a long look at the chest of spare items Fundy had left behind. 

But only if they let him. 

With a long, soft sigh, he ran a hand down his face and withdrew his pickaxe again. 

Maybe he could actually finish his basement in peace now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Tubbo thinks Tommy is dead and yes he didn't manage to convey this information to Phil so yes he STILL things Tommy is dead :)


	2. it's alright, it's okay, you're not a monster, just a human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was dark when Tubbo woke, feeling strangely comfortable. For a long moment, he drifted, feeling pleasantly warm and comfortable for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. 
> 
> Then his memory returned and he burrowed deeper into the covers, pulling them over his head and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He fought down tears, the aching pit in his heart that had been present ever since Tommy had left (ever since he had sent Tommy away to die) threatening to devour everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually so done with ao3 right now we need proper tags in this fandom. 
> 
> anyway! surprise sequel I yeeted out last night because I was in a Mood.

It was dark when Tubbo woke, feeling strangely comfortable. For a long moment, he drifted, feeling pleasantly warm and comfortable for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. 

Then his memory returned and he burrowed deeper into the covers, pulling them over his head and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He fought down tears, the aching pit in his heart that had been present ever since Tommy had left (ever since he had sent Tommy away to die) threatening to devour everything. 

He had spent many, many nights curled on his bed, trying and failing to sleep. Even more nights where he hadn’t even tried, staring over the paperwork he needed to do, the plans for the nation he needed to address. It felt strange to have actually slept properly -- and a good sleep, at that -- but he knew he wasn’t going to sleep again that night. 

His throat was dry and he sat up in bed, taking in the small room. It took him a long moment to recognise Phil’s bedroom -- an empty bed he assumed was Phil’s in the corner. He rubbed an eye, realizing with a squirm of embarrassment that Phil must have carried him up here when he fell asleep -- he didn’t remember ever leaving the basement. 

(Part of him liked that -- liked that Phil had taken the time to settle him into bed. It made him feel safe -- wanted. Liked. 

All things he didn’t deserve after everything he’d done.) 

He wrapped his arms around his knees, the phantom echo of Phil’s embrace clinging to him. 

He should leave -- he’d overstayed his welcome long enough. The day had been nice -- nicer than he could admit, possibly the nicest he’d had in a  _ long _ time. But he was the president, and Phil didn’t even  _ like _ him. 

Tubbo couldn’t blame him, really. 

He stood, slipping his socked feet onto the smooth wooden floor. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing slightly as he came in contact with his helmet. He’d have to get rid of that - maybe a respawn was needed if he couldn’t bring the durability down enough. It had been a moment of weakness, a moment of foolish fear and childish desire and he almost regretted it. 

He glanced around for his shoes, seeing them placed neatly beside the bed (why had Phil carried him up here? Why had he taken the time to put him to bed like a child? Why hadn’t he just thrown him out and finally be rid of him). He pulled the shoes on and stood, padding silently towards the ladder downstairs. 

The ladder creaked slightly as he climbed down and he froze, listening for any sign of Phil, heart beating quickly, hands tight on the wood. When there was no sound, he continued down, stepping lightly onto the floor. 

Friend lifted his head as Tubbo moved slowly across the room. He motioned a hushing noise towards the sheep, as though that would silence it, but it didn’t pay him any attention and let out a soft bleat. 

“Quiet,” Tubbo hissed. He glanced towards the water elevator, hoping Phil was deep enough underground to not hear. Why he was putting so much effort into sneaking out, he wasn’t sure -- it wasn’t like Phil hadn’t been trying to get rid of him all day. 

(He had shown a moment of vulnerability he hadn’t shown to anyone else down in that basement. To his… enemy? Was Phil his enemy? Tubbo didn’t want him to be, but maybe he was. He was allied with Technoblade, after all.

He didn’t want to face the man he had once seen as a father figure. The man he had shot only a few days ago. The man he desperately wanted to make proud. The man he had locked in house arrest). 

He almost made it too. He had even opened the door when Phil appeared, surprisingly silent, from behind the ladder. Tubbo froze, eyes darting quickly, heart thumping as Phil paused, catching sight of him. 

“Tubbo?” he asked, his voice soft in the dark room. Tubbo didn’t know what to say. “Where are you going?” 

Home, Tubbo wanted to say, but that was a lie. He didn’t have a home. He hadn’t in a long time. Even before becoming president, he hadn’t had a place he’d known as home. 

(Not a place, exactly. But a loud, boisterous laugh. Mischievous blue eyes. A tall, lanky figure who teased him and he teased back. A bench and a music box and a disc and a sunset and most importantly a friend by his side.

That was gone now. Tubbo had made sure of it.)

“I -” His mouth was dry. “Sorry. Didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“It’s alright, mate,” Phil said. He deposited some items into a chest and moved to where Tubbo was standing, gently closing the door outside. “It’s late, you should go back to bed.” 

Tubbo blinked, wrapping an arm around himself. Did Phil want him to stay? 

(Phil was right beside him and Tubbo couldn’t help but remember the hug from earlier. And oh, he hadn’t been hugged like that in such a  _ long _ time. He wanted it again. Wanted more. But he knew he couldn’t ask for it.)

“I should go,” he muttered. He was going to cry again, why was he going to cry again. (He wanted his compass. He wanted the comfort, the last memory of his best friend.

But he’d lost it. He’d lost it and it had been destroyed - he’d been careless and stupid and the compass was gone and so was Tommy and it was Tubbo’s fault he had sent his best friend away had left him alone had thrown him aside and hadn’t thought to visit had left him to the demons and monsters of his mind and a pillar stood where Tommy once had and craters were all that was left of him and this time there was nothing there was no one left to rebuild to make it beautiful again because Tommy was  _ gone _ and Tubbo had done that and -)

“Tubbo?” 

Phil laid a hand on his shoulder and Tubbo couldn't help but lean into the touch, furiously rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He was the president, not some silly child. He shouldn’t be breaking down  _ again _ in the house of an enemy of his country. 

“I should go,” he whispered again, his voice stiff and thick. But Phil didn’t let go of his shoulder, just watching him with a long stare that Tubbo couldn’t keep eye contact with. He looked down, blinking. 

“How about we take another trip,” Phil suggested, and Tubbo looked up at him through his hair. “I think you need a break.” 

“I can’t,” Tubbo said tiredly. (Oh, he wanted to say yes. He wanted to so, so badly. He wanted to leave it all behind, to be able to rest and  _ sleep _ . But he couldn’t. He had let Tommy down, he  _ couldn’t  _ let L’manburg down. Not when he had chosen the country over his best friend.) 

(Besides, he couldn’t rest. Not with the memory of tears and rain on his face. Not with the shadow of the pillar that was Tommy’s grave was over his heart.) 

“Why not?” Phil asked, and Tubbo met his eyes. “What is left of L’manberg, really?” 

Tubbo wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to say that L’manberg was about freedom for all. It was a place for all and everyone to be welcome. A place with no walls. A place to be able to relax and laugh with friends. 

But that would be a lie. Maybe L’manberg had been like that once, a long, long time ago. (A lifetime ago, when he had been young and part of a pair). But her streets were quiet and her citizens fearful. 

Those that were left. 

“I - I have to stay,” he muttered. He needed to make it  _ better _ . That was his job - he was president, he was in charge. He had to fix things. He had to make it work because he hadn’t left when he had the chance. He hadn’t left with Tommy and he had chosen his fate and this was where he was to stay. 

There was nowhere else he could go, anyway. Not without his other half. 

Phil shifted, laying his other hand on Tubbo’s other shoulder and crouching slightly so they were level. His eyes were soft - far softer than Tubbo expected. 

Far softer than Tubbo deserved. 

“Tubbo, you’re allowed to leave. You’re still just a kid -- you shouldn’t be expected to run a whole country, especially not on your own. Come with me -- rest. Recover. You’ve been through a lot, I know a place.” 

If it weren’t the middle of the night, and if Tubbo wasn’t exhausted from his breakdown earlier and if Phil’s hands weren’t so, so  _ warm _ on his shoulders maybe he would have said no. But at the moment, all he wanted was  _ rest _ . All he wanted was to leave, to get away, to stop having to worry about his cabinet getting along or silly dispute or a dying country he couldn’t revive. 

So he dropped his head and nodded. 

“Okay,” he whispered, softly. 

Phil squeezed his shoulder gently and stepped back, moving to his chests. Tubbo watched him for a moment, absently lifting a hand to where Phil’s had just left. He felt the absence almost as much as the hands themselves. 

“Do you need to pack anything?” Phil asked, and Tubbo shook his head. Everything he needed was either in his inventory or his ender chest. 

It came with not having a home. 

“Alright, dress warmly, it’s cold,” Phil said. He finished organising, ruffled Friend’s wool a little and smiled at Tubbo, still standing by the door. 

“I -- I don’t have anything to wear,” Tubbo muttered. Phil frowned, nodded, and turned to a chest, rummaging through for a moment before withdrawing a cloak. It was a pale blue, trimmed with white, yellow and hints of red. 

Tubbo pulled it over his shoulders and followed Phil out the door. 

They travelled the same path they had taken to the Nether portal that afternoon, but it felt different. Tubbo paused on the hill and glanced back at L’manberg, feeling an aching in his chest, a lump in his throat. 

His gaze lingered on the van (he had made that, recreated it when he was optimistic about the future, despite all he had been through), memories of a better time, of hopeful rebellion, of laughter and friendship and a wall that had meant  _ hope _ instead of despair washing over him. 

_ Fundy, grinning as they bickered over an insignificant treat. Fundy, eyes dark and haunted while he informed Tubbo he was leaving to start a new city.  _

_ Eret, ruffling Tubbo’s hair as they worked on the walls together. Eret, eyes hidden behind cold glasses and colder voice when he betrayed them.  _

_ Wilbur, sitting in the entrance of the van, playing a soft tune while the sun set golden over his nation. Wilbur, laughing mad and broken in the rubble of their home.  _

_ Tommy, arm over Tubbo’s shoulder. Tommy, teasing, joking, laughing. Tommy, eyes shining with life and chaos and happiness.  _

_ Tommy, staring up at Tubbo through the rain, a shocked and betrayed expression frozen on his face.  _

_ Tommy... _

When had it all gone so wrong? 

Phil was waiting for him when he turned, wiping a hand across his face. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Tubbo and they were silent as they slipped through the dark paths. 

The lump in Tubbo’s throat grew as they stepped through the portal, Phil not hesitating as he moved onto one of the paths leading away. One of  _ Tommy’s _ paths. For a moment, Tubbo looked towards the end, wondering if he could make out the portal. Wondering if he could see the pillar all the way from here. 

He followed Phil as the man moved off the path, confidently picking his way through the unstable Nether terrain. Another portal slowly came into view and Tubbo wondered how long it had been there. 

The cold of the Overworld was a slap to the face as Tubbo stepped through the portal. He gasped, pulling the cloak tightly around him as they stepped into a snowy wasteland. Phil grinned back at him. 

“Not far now,” he said. “Just… trust me.” 

The words made Tubbo’s chest twist and he almost turned back. Unease continued growing as they moved deeper inland, snow swirling softly around them, picked up by the slight breeze. Tubbo pulled his cloak tightly around him, itching for a sword, a weapon, anything, in hand. 

He was beginning to have a suspicion as to where they were going. 

" Phil,” he began, uncertainly. “Where -” 

And he stopped, the words caught in his throat. He stopped in his tracks, hand dropping away from the cloak, eyes welling once again. 

Just becoming visible, rising high above the world, was a tower. An ugly, horrible, eye-sore of a cobblestone tower, reaching to the sky as though defying Tubbo. 

He blinked, trying to force down the tears, the wave of bubbling emotion the sight of it caused. The tower was so  _ Tommy _ he wanted to break down. Had Tommy been here -- before…? No, that wasn’t possible. But who else could have made this? 

Was it all some kind of sick joke? Had Phil dragged him out here for revenge? 

If he was being honest, Tubbo didn’t really care. At least it was a break, a change from the dragging routine of being president. 

Phil had stopped, looking back at him with a curious expression. 

“Tubbo?” he asked, and every time he said Tubbo’s name he wanted to break down and be ten years old again and safe in Phil’s arms. 

“I’m fine,” Tubbo said, and it was the biggest lie he had ever said. Phil saw through him but didn’t say anything, just waited for Tubbo to catch up to him and continued moving. 

“Stay close for the moment,” he said. “I’ll need to clear things up first.” 

Tubbo nodded, but he wasn’t really paying attention. The shadow of the cobblestone tower mingled with the shadow of the pillar and he didn’t  _ care _ anymore. 

Had Tommy missed him as much as he missed Tommy? As much as he would  _ always _ miss Tommy? 

Had Tommy thought of him, before he jumped? 

If so, was fond memories or was it in anger? 

The small cottage that Tubbo recognised without any surprise m came into view. The horse wasn’t in the small pen out the front, and Tubbo felt a stab of guilt at that. Another thing to add to the sea of guilt he was already drowning in. 

“Phil - I thought you… what’s he doing here?” 

Tubbo looked up at Technoblade’s voice, his breath frozen suddenly in his throat. The warrior was terrifying in the snowy night - a blue cloak fluttering around his knees, his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Tubbo. Tubbo's heart was beating rapidly, and the urge to  _ run _ was suddenly so overwhelmingly strong. But he didn’t. He stood his ground, and Phil stepped softly between them, holding up his hands. 

“Relax, Techno,” he said. “Tubbo just needs a place to stay.” 

“And you really thought I was the best person he should stay with.” Techno’s voice was devoid of emotion, but Tubbo bit his lip, knowing he wasn’t going to be allowed to stay. “I’m not a daycare, Phil.” 

" I’ll stay as well. He’s a kid, Techno. He needs a place to recover. He needs somewhere away from L'manberg.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo said, and he wasn’t even aware he had spoken. He stepped forward, away from the safety of Phil. Techno was as intimidating as always, eyes glinting, hands gripped tightly around a pickaxe that Tubbo knew could do some damage (he had seen Quackity’s scars). 

His chest was tight as he stepped forward, as he stared at the man in front of him (and the yellow walls closed around him. And the fireworks lit up the night. And the pain burst through his chest.) 

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I’m sorry,” he repeated, lowering his gaze. If Technoblade wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t resist. It was the least he deserved. 

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder and he started, looking up at Phil. The older man had fixed Techno with a long gaze, and after a long moment of silence Techno nodded, once, and Tubbo drew in a tight breath. 

Was he really going to be allowed to stay? 

Did he  _ want _ to stay? 

“Oi, Big Man - I think I found one of those zombie fellas you - Philza!” 

A loud voice shattered the silence of the night and Tubbo’s heart  _ stopped _ . He looked up, almost fast enough to crack his neck, blood running cold, heart frozen in his chest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn’t  _ breathe _ and a blur of white and red and yellow hair ran across the snow towards them. 

Tommy was here.

Tommy was with Technoblade. 

Tommy was  _ alive _ . 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Tommy skidded to a stop suddenly, the excitement on his face changing abruptly to a guarded expression as he caught sight of Tubbo. He was different -- different to when Tubbo had seen him last. His hair was longer, shaggy and hanging around his neck. More scars were scattered across his face, his eyes darting with a wariness Tubbo didn't often see on him. But it was still him -- still so very _Tommy_ and so very _alive_.   


Phil stepped back, his hand slipping off Tubbo’s shoulder, giving the two teenagers their space. 

(Tubbo couldn’t breathe)

“How?” he whispered, taking a half step forward. 

(How was he here? How was he  _ alive _ .) 

( _ He hates me. He must, he has to. It was my fault, it was all my fault). _

“Tubbo.” Tommy’s voice was tight, tense, covering hidden anger. 

“I -” Tubbo didn’t know what to say. “You’re alive.” 

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” Tommy demanded, folding his arms, eyes flashing. 

"I - I went to visit-” 

“Oh no, you  _ didn’t _ !” Tommy was always quick to anger, quick to shout, quick to explode. “I was there for  _ months _ , and you didn’t visit me  _ once! _ ” 

“I - I did,” Tubbo tried. “I did, but Dream kept… I thought you didn’t want-” 

“You didn’t even come to my  _ party! _ ” Tommy snapped. “And I know you got invitations, I  _ know _ you did!” 

" I didn’t!” Tubbo cried. “I thought you didn’t want me there.” He bit his lip, looking down, hands shaking. 

“Don’t try that,” Tommy spat. “Dream told me you got the invitations, he made sure of it.” 

“I would have come,” Tubbo muttered. He stepped forward, feeling like his chest was going to explode. 

(Tommy was alive.) 

(Tommy hated him.)

(But Tommy was  _ alive _ .) 

Something shifted in Tommy’s expression at that, but he didn’t give any ground, anger still spilling off his form. 

“Sure,” he spat.

“I would have. Tommy, please, I -” He took a shaky breath. “I went to visit you, and I found the pillar and I thought…” he trailed off, and something in Tommy’s eyes made Tubbo wonder just how close he had been to jumping. Tubbo’s heart  _ ached _ . That was his fault. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“Sure you are,” Tommy said. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you threw me out.” His eyes blazed, covering the hurt he was feeling. Anger was his defence, Tubbo knew him well enough to know that. 

I t had faded though, and Tubbo could see a little of the tiredness lingering behind the rage.

“I am!” he cried. “I’m so, so sorry. Exiling you was the biggest mistake of my  _ life. _ ” He was crying, but he didn’t care. “I understand if you hate me, I - I’ll leave, but please know that I’m  _ sorry _ .” 

“ _ I missed you _ ,” he wanted to say, wanted to scream. But he couldn’t. Because he didn’t deserve to miss the person he had thrown aside. 

Tommy didn’t meet his eyes, most of his fire faded. 

“I don’t hate you,” he said finally and when he looked up Tubbo was startled to see there were tears in his eyes. “I…” His hands shifted up, to where a chain linked around his neck, a compass identical to Tubbo’s lost one resting on his chest. “I thought you hated me.” 

The words sent a sword into Tubbo’s heart, an aching, aching  _ pain _ . How had it ever got to this? How could they ever have allowed the world to tear them apart? 

“I could never, Tommy Innit,” he said quietly. 

“I missed you,” Tommy muttered and Tubbo bit his lip, the tears flowing freely. 

" Me too,” he whispered. 

A nd then Tommy moved forward, pulling him into a tight hug and Tubbo wrapped his arms tightly around his best friend, and they were both crying, clinging to each other and for the first time in a long, long time, Tubbo felt whole again. 


End file.
